


A Matter of Perception

by Choice



Series: A Matter of Things [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Confusion, Culture Clashes, Gender Identity, Happy Ending, Hobbit Culture, I promise, M/M, Male Pregnancy, Mpreg, Possessive!Thorin, Pregnancy Kink, Slash, Slow Burn, Thorin can be selectively obtuse sometimes, but Bilbo tolerates this (or tries to)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 10:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Choice/pseuds/Choice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Bilbo is more equipped to accept his dwarrows’ eccentricities, after all. (Post-'Perspective')</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Perception

**Author's Note:**

> And by equipped, I mean… Well… *waggles eyebrows* In other words: The mpreg-filled follow-up fic that I just couldn’t resist.
> 
> This fic is the byproduct of the following [hobbit_kink prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24298613#t24298613):
> 
>  
> 
> _'Hobbit females normally only give birth to one or two babies at a time, but can do so as often as their bodies can recover from pregnancy. Male hobbits can also give birth, however. They can have litters of 3 to 5 babies at a time, but only two years apart to give their bodies time to recover. The dwarves are amazed to discover this. And one dwarf in particular wants to get on discovering if that's true for himself. Thorin starts courting Bilbo in earnest, but Bilbo doesn't want Thorin to only want him for his childbearing abilities. Thorin's going to have to prove he wants Bilbo for Bilbo.'_
> 
>  
> 
> I may or may not take on the bonus(es) as outlined by the author, so they will be mentioned if and when they appear as the story progresses. (Also, if you want to avoid potential spoilage, avoid the prompt until this is complete!) Cool? Cool! 
> 
> I would like to note that I am not assuming that the OP of the previous prompt for _A Matter of Perspective_ is in any way behind the prompt that inspired this work, and I hope that they can forgive me for carrying their prompt over into this, in order to fulfill my own mpreg affinity and fill another prompt. I just couldn't quit imagining how perfectly these two melded together in my (twisted, helter-skelter, questionably sane) mind!
> 
> That said, enjoy!

Bilbo hadn’t spared a second thought for the dwarrows’ odd (and, quite frankly, embarrassing) reactions ever since they’d left Laketown and their journey progressed. The mere thought of being turned into barbequed hobbit courtesy of one Dragon of the Lonely Mountain was more than enough to keep him equal amounts distracted and terrified.

It is during one of his imaginings of a quite vivid scenario wherein Smaug turned him into a hobbit flambé, a habit of his when there is a lull in the campfire conversation and everyone is caught up in their own puzzling and confounding thoughts, that he is bombarded by two descendants of the line of Durin.

(Bilbo is aggrieved when he realizes that neither are the Durin-son that he’s barely admitted to _himself_ that he fancies. No, his object of tentative and fleeting desire is currently attempting to stare down the meager fire with his passionate brooding while obscenely puffing at his pipe and—well. Such is life.)

“Hey Burglar!” They chorus in harmony, Fili nudging Bilbo roughly in greeting while Kili has taken to burgling the remnants of Bilbo’s dinner ration. 

Bilbo raises a brow at them both, completely unimpressed. “What do you pesky boys want, hmm?” he asks, pulling patience from the reservoir that he’d usually rely on whilst dealing with hobbit faunts.

They both look varying shades of affronted at being referred to as ‘boys,’ blustering on about being older than Bilbo (“And hairier by a long shot!” Kili snidely remarks, though his doubtful glance down at Bilbo’s proudly hairy feet pretty much ruins the effect) while the rest of the Company regards their exchange with various forms of amusement.

“ _Boys,_ ” Thorin calls out from his spot, proving that he is far more aware of what is going on than Bilbo had initially expected, “Leave Master Baggins be.”

Bilbo grins at the continued sputtering of both brothers, this time aimed at their uncle. 

“Hey Bilbo,” Ori pipes up, and the fire is glinting in his cautiously curious eyes when Bilbo meets the young dwarf’s gaze. “I’ve been wondering…”

Bilbo smiles encouragingly at the young scribe. “Well, the only way to remedy that is to wonder out loud. Out with it, then,” he says, leaning back as he fishes around in his coat pockets for his own pipe and weed. He dutifully ignores the hovering presence of Thorin’s sister-sons, knowing that the only way to handle their shenanigans is through sheer ignorance and persistence. Quite a bit like dealing with Lobelia, actually, only this was far more entertaining and didn’t leave him with less silver than he’d started out with.

“Well, you never really talk of your homeland, while we always bombard you with talk of ours,” Ori blusters, flushing when Dori regards him with brotherly (and ever-so-slightly-maternal) affection and no small amount of pride. “I was just wondering if you could regale us with a bit more. Only if you want to, that is,” he hastens to add.

Bilbo chuckles at that, tilting his head to one side. “Well of course!” he exclaims. “There is much to be said about the Shire, and of hobbits, so is there anything in particular I could regale you with?”

“You mentioned something about hobbit lasses, back in Laketown,” Bofur pipes up with an easy smile, and it’s right at that moment that Bilbo realizes that this conversation has garnered the interest of pretty much everyone in the Company. (Except Thorin, perhaps, but as evidenced by his intervention not minutes ago, this is probably the King Under the Mountain’s expression of vague intrigue.)

Bilbo blinks, bewildered (and slightly embarrassed) as to where he quickly sees this conversation going. “Okay…” He replies slowly, tentatively. “What do you wish to know of our lady-hobbits, then?”

“You mentioned that wee hobbitlings aren’t hard to come by, for one! How large are your families back home, anyway?” Bofur questions.

“Fauntlings,” Bilbo corrects absentmindedly, hoping that the fire can easily be blamed for the warmth riddling his face.

Fili and Kili tilt their heads at him in unison. “What?” they chirrup, puzzled.

“Fauntlings, that’s what we call our daughters and sons,” Bilbo clarifies, sitting back and fiddling with the pipe in his hands. “And hobbit families can grow to be quite large. It isn’t unusual for a couple to have three, or even five faunts. Why,” Bilbo laughs, getting far more engrossed in the conversation now that he acknowledges his homesickness, “If my memory serves correct—Gandalf, feel free to intervene if I exaggerate at all—but if I remember correctly, Misters Goodchild, ironically, have nearly ten in their brood! Proud fathers if I ever saw any.”

Gandalf smiles around his own pipe. “That they are, Bilbo, though…” He taps his lips once with the tip of the pipe. “I do believe that Bruno is expecting once again.”

“Ah yes,” Bilbo acknowledges with a fond nod, completely oblivious to the varying expressions of his dwarrows, ranging from mildly confused to outright shellshocked. “The Goodchilds, along with the Brandybucks, were all betting on two girls, though dear Prim swore on her mother’s doilies that it would be two boys and a girl.”

“Wait a tic,” Nori yelps, looking thoroughly gobsmacked. “ _’im?_ Bruno, innit a _male_ name?”

Bilbo regards the middle Ri with a look that loudly declares, _Are you quite alright in the head?_ “Yes, of course,” he slowly replies. “What of it?”

“How’s ‘e poppin’ out kids then?!”

After a cursory glance, Bilbo sees that they’re all (save Gandalf) straight-out staring out him, aghast. Even Thorin has abandoned his attempts at intimidating the fire into submission to furrow his brows in confusion at the Company’s resident burglar.

“You mean…” Bilbo swallows, his suddenly too-dry throat clicking. “I mean, isn’t it the same for dwarrows, too?” At the lack of response—if you ignore Gandalf’s positively irksome chuckles, that is—Bilbo feels like a lone Took in a sea of Bagginses.

“Explain.” Thorin says, and Bilbo prickles at the demand. 

“Manners would do you well, Master Oakenshield,” Bilbo scolds, folding his arms across his chest.

Bilbo is rewarded with an indignant scoff. “Explain, _please?_ ” Thorin corrects, looking like he’d eaten a lemon whole.

Bilbo offers him a smile for his troubles. “Right. Well, for hobbits, _both_ genders can… well, you know,” he flushes. “Become pregnant with faunts.”

“How does that even work?” Dwalin asks, and he looks mildly perturbed at the thought. “Don’t you need… you know, certain _parts_ for that?”

Bilbo becomes even redder in the face, if that’s at all possible. The impropriety of these dwarves! “We are all more than properly equipped for hobbits, Mister Dwalin,” he forces out and oh, sweet Yavanna, he _so_ is not in the mood for another conversation like this…!

Gandalf, bless his beard, finally takes pity on the sole hobbit of the Company and clarifies matters. “If I understand correctly, hobbit and dwarven anatomies are slightly different in that dwarrows and dwarrowdams both have separate ‘parts,’ as you put it, Master Dwalin, while hobbit ‘parts’ do not differ with identified genders.”

Kili and Fili are looking at Bilbo like a particularly odd specimen of insect, sort of like that time that Bilbo experimented with fertilizers for his plums and somehow wound up with strange plum-apricot… things. They tasted great, but he’d been the object of Baggins scorn and disdain for two seasons since. Bilbo had quickly chalked _that_ up to a science experiment gone wrong.

“So how do you tell the men from the women, then?” Kili asks, sans brain-to-mouth filter.

“Kili!” his brother snaps, slapping the back of Kili’s head.

“That is a downright rude sort of thing to ask, boy!” Balin admonishes, while Ori slaps a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

“I was just curious,” Kili murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

“ _Durujrith tarâgbark baglur,_ ” Thorin rumbled, expression stormy. “Apologize to Master Baggins. _Now_.” 

Kili, abashed, kicks a boot into the dirt of the clearing before offering Bilbo a quiet “Sorry, Mister Baggins.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Kili,” Bilbo hastens, never liking seeing anyone down, especially on his behalf. “Just a bit of a cultural misunderstanding is all. Don’t fret over spilled milk, and all that.”

Kili looks confused. “What milk?”

Bilbo shakes his head. “Hobbit thing. Nevermind.”

Kili looks at Fili. They share a look and shrug, as if to say, _Hobbit things, indeed._

“To answer your question,” Bilbo continues after a beat, before the silence has a chance to become anything remotely awkward, “Hobbits decide their own genders. Even fresh out of the womb, practically every faunt is born knowing whether he is a he and likewise. Those that don’t conform to genders are usually accepted well enough, unless you’re a Baggins.” Bilbo grimaces as he remembers the grief that his more… prudish side had subjected poor Isadore to for years on end, until the fed-up hobbit wound up leaving the Shire for greener pastures. 

“That is so very curious,” Ori murmurs, eyes agleam and hands twitching like they would very much like to get a hold of his quill and some parchment. “I have never read of such a thing.”

“Yes, well, I suppose we hobbits have our own fair share of secrets too, eh?” Bilbo smiles, tapping the side of his nose with a well-placed wink.

“So you’re saying…” Thorin murmurs, treading carefully if the look of stern concentration is any indication. “Any hobbit could become pregnant?”

Bilbo furrows his brows in confusion. Isn’t that what he just said? “Yes…”

Thorin’s eyes, so incredibly blue as they pierce his and oh, Bilbo had never been the type for poetry, but he could dedicate hundreds of sonnets to those eyes and still have more to say! “Even you, yourself?” he asks, and was it just Bilbo, or was that baritone edged with the slightest hint of… anger or arousal? He couldn’t tell, but judging by the way Gandalf’s eyebrows climbed all the way up his forehead, Bilbo hadn’t been the only one to notice.

“Of course I can!” Bilbo squeaks, feeling equal measures indignant and mortified. “Just because I have an unusual taste for adventure than is appropriate for most hobbits, I assure you that my anatomy is perfectly functional and _normal!_ ”

Thorin, whose emotional range was rivaled by those of boulders, actually looks apologetic, realizing that he hit a nerve. “I did not mean to insinuate otherwise,” he assures, and how does he make his voice sound like warm, rich mead like that? “I meant no offense, Bilbo.”

“Right and fine,” Bilbo blusters after a beat, once again fiddling with his pipe as he finally gets around to filling and lighting it. It’s only after he responds that he realizes Thorin has foregone the usual monikers of ‘Burglar’ or ‘Master Baggins’ for Bilbo’s given name.

He flushes to his toes at what that could possibly insinuate, and quickly resolves to puzzle and mull over _that_ later on in the comfort of his bedroll, thank you _very_ much.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation:  
>  _durujrith_ (curiousity is [completely a product of b.s.]) + _tarâgbark_ (axe) + _baglur_ (containing rust): My struggle to say, “Curiosity is a rusted axe,” a Khuzdul attempt at “Curiosity killed the cat.” Or… something. *hides* I courteously thank (but by no means blame for any inaccuracies) [The Dwarrow Scholar](http://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/) for their absolutely epic English/Neo-Khuzdul Dictionary.
> 
> That's it for now! I'm not quite sure just how long this one will be, but I have a few things in mind. If you have anything you'd like to see, let me know via comment! I love inspiration, in whatever shapes or forms they may come in.
> 
> Until next time!  
> Lyss


End file.
